I can hardly write, let alone think of a title.

I have been sitting here, searching blogs for inspiration.  I have read quite a few, even skimmed my own…

…and nothing…

I wish I had some wine.

The air conditioner is humming.

My love is purring on the futon… she fell fast asleep during the premier of THE FIRST 48, Missing Persons. Why is she the effin cutest thing ever?  She was “so excited” about the show.

The light from the TV is flickering.

I am comfortable and in the mood to write…

…and nothing…

It seems as though my words are locked up somewhere.  In a dingy and cold room, in danger of never being found again.

I feel the distance between us. Me and my words. And it saddens me.  I have pleaded with them to come back to me…

…and nothing…

There’s this sort of numbness whenever I sit down to write now. There’s effort needed, where there wasn’t before.  My words seem forced and unauthentic.

You know how people believe in locking two people who are having differences in a room together, so they are forced to work out their issues?  I think I need that.  Except, I will be alone in that room.  Me and my worst enemy, myself.

Something is blocking me.

So it looks like I will be heading into that dingy and cold room, in search of my words.

 

 

Vanessa xoxo

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